


episode the episode

by fletcherenns



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Baby Project AU, Gen, M/M, hear me out, mildly ooc but theyre being egg dads what do you expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29943288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletcherenns/pseuds/fletcherenns
Summary: “Do youmind?” Adam hollered. “I’m trying to get a good grade!”“And I,” Ronan said, muffled through his fork, “was trying to have breakfast.”aka "i’m stuck in a compulsory group project with my hot crush who im sure hates me please send help"
Relationships: Henry Cheng/Richard Gansey III, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	episode the episode

**Author's Note:**

> i’m basing this off kurtis conner’s video series bc its funny. no idea how this process actually works. idr who milo was in canon so that's not accurate
> 
> also never written ronan before, but i have written henry/gansey if youd like to check that out ! x

Ronan was going to commit murder. His first act of deliberate, pre-planned murder, and it was going to be Milo. Assigned partners. A _baby_ project. The one day of the school year he’d let Gansey’s needling make him come to school, and this is what he got for it. Stupid state-sanctioned changes to the curriculum.

Milo, it seemed, had the exact same murderous intent regarding Ronan. “No, Mister Lynch, I will not be changing _anyone’s_ partners.”

He gestured helplessly, frustrated in a way that was making it hard to form words over the shiny neon sign perpetually in his head that said: _Start Swinging!_ in bright orange. “But-”

“No buts. I see that you would rather do this assignment with Mister Gansey,” Milo droned, gesturing to his vague direction with the elbows of his crossed arms. He was impassive. His dead-eyed stare was a winner. Ronan would bet money Declan loved him. “but as he is an actually good student, I would like to offer him the opportunity of fair group work.”

Gansey shot him an appropriately sheepish look over his shoulder. _Sorry_ , he mouthed ruefully. Ronan glowered. “Parrish is an excellent student. It would do good for you to learn something from his work ethic. And I will be having your contributions to the project recorded, so don’t think you can carry on that attitude of yours.” 

Parrish, for his part, looked as cool as ever. He was sitting next to Gansey - a perpetual thorn in Ronan’s side, because whenever he spoke to Gansey he was forced to catalogue him in the peripheral. His hair was a strange dust - Ronan couldn’t tell if it was a light brown or a dark blonde. Some days, it looked red. Some days, it looked fluffy - on other days it looked greasy. The urge to physically check in either case filled him with white hot rage. 

On second glance, there was a strange tightening to Parrish’s slender face. As if he couldn’t quite decide if he was mad, but was safely on the angry side of annoyed. He understood the feeling well. Ronan looked away from them, kicking the ground and glaring at the whiteboard instead. Milo continued, with no small amount of smugness. Asshole. “We’ll begin with the weekend- we’ve been told to include this in the curriculum just this month, see, and we’re still ironing out the basics. Here are the eggs, I took the liberty, empty them on your own. Blah Blah Blah, see you on Monday.”

One day, he’d been copying Gansey’s homework, and Parrish had pointed out a wrong answer; slid his finger to the question, palm wide enough to splay over half the paper. Jesus Christ, his hands. Strong, suntanned and boyishly awkward. His joints jutted. He had freckles along the back. They were noticeably dry. Ronan was going to start frothing at the mouth.

“Fuck off, nerd. Quit bothering me.” Ronan had given up on the homework entirely after that one. Parrish had glared at him in that quiet way of his, but sighed and turned to his own work instead. They weren’t on speaking terms. They were barely on tolerating terms.

Which was why it was absurd that Parrish was already inside the Camaro when Ronan caught up to them. Gansey and Parrish were on speaking terms, clearly, if the amount of furious gesturing (Gansey) or deep frowns(Adam) in the conversation were any indicator. “Ronan!” Gansey’s smile was award-winning, but it fell onto a judge who’d spent the bigger part of their lives loathing the competitive arena. “Monmouth’s on Adam’s way home, so I thought we could all stop there. You two have your project, too! Lovely.”

Ronan eyed the loudly orange door like it was going to open up and eat him whole, Monster House style. He prayed from the heart. The request went to Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the little goat that was present in all the Nativity scenes for some reason. It did not, in fact, open up and eat him whole (Monster House Style). Dammit. “What about _your_ project?”

“Oh, er, Henry’s busy today. We’re meeting tomorrow. Litchfield. His place.” Gansey’s cheeks were tinged pink, and he was doing the too-much-eye-contact thing he did when he was flustered. Ronan did not feel like unpacking that. Parrish was looking at him. Parrish was looking at him. The blaring sun was a good excuse for the redness, though, so it was fine. Fuck, Parrish was looking at him.

“Why’s _he_ here?”

“Ronan, for the love of God, please be nice. We have World History together, I was telling him about Glendower.” Gansey’s latest lover (in the line of grizzly old royal dudes) was someone he was planning on doing a thesis on, and that meant preparing for it ten years in advance. It’s the ADHD, he’d said once. I ought to start now so I have a paper in Uni. 

Ronan had told him he ‘ought to’ stop using British in everyday conversation. Gansey had landed into a spiel about British invasion in Wales. It was a talent, if nothing else.

“We need to discuss our project, too,” Parrish pointed out. His words were as cool and clipped as his gaze. “Thought it might get two birds in one. Gansey says you live together.”

“Really? I hadn’t fucking noticed.”

Three things occurred the entire way to Monmouth Manufacturing: Adam picked at his hangnails, Gansey shot Ronan a professionally chiding look, and Ronan mentally kicked himself in the shins. It was the most painfully awkward drive of his life (or maybe just that week).

Reaching Monmouth was a different matter - Gansey got a call, which meant he’d be out of commission for the next two hours, which meant that Mister two-birds had launched his claws into Ronan before he could run. 

Parrish had placed the empty egg onto the sideways bookshelf that was both a countertop and a study table (when Gansey’s other two study tables were piled too high with shit to be functional). The egg was undecorated, except for a very formal AP and RL scrawled in precise blockhand. “I don’t see why they make us waste food,” he’d muttered disdainfully, and Ronan had felt a surge of positive agreement, in response to which the terrible thing in his head had decided to start biting. 

“You were gonna eat Milo’s rotten eggs? What, food stamps aren--”

  
Adam’s tone was polite, but resentful. “Lynch.” His mouth curled sinfully around the world. Ronan turned around to kick really hard at a stack of books. “So you don’t like me because I’m not one of your rich boy... associates. Colleagues. Whatever. But unlike you people, I need this. I cannot be acing Latin and AP Calculus and messing up _Health_ , of all things. I’m asking you to work with me for three days, is all.”

"What do I get?" The words leave his mouth before his brain catches up to them. He's far too busy thinking about how his toes hurt, Jesus Christ, kicking shit is far more difficult in school-appropriate footwear. 

"What?" Adam sounds perplexed. This, at least, is familiar territory. "What the hell, man. What you _get_ is that I don't report you to Milo for deadbeat dad crimes."


End file.
